


Please Restore the Coordinates

by Whyllas_Torch



Category: Original Work
Genre: Annoying AIs, Gen, Heroic Interns, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:36:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2620334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whyllas_Torch/pseuds/Whyllas_Torch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>space gps tells us to take a right where we should take a left. plucky recent academy grad on the graveyard shift realizes that this would take us into the sun and makes the course correction. ship’s computer advises her for two hours to make a u-turn when it is safe to do so</p><p>-Prompt from bakara.co.vu</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Restore the Coordinates

Inaed had had the fortune of being on the graveyard shift on Inter-Galactic Starship Taurus again. Being an extrovert, she found the empty control room creepy. There was no one to make sarcastic quips to and no one to send to get hot drinks. Oh, there were those giant flipping AIs, sure, but these did not understand the brilliance of her jokes. Then again, real people rarely did, too.

But the graveyard shift didn’t have to be all sitting in a chair and staring at viewscreens. Inaed took at a perfect opportunity to zoom around in automatic chairs and listen to symphonic metal. She had just finished a round, making a sick turn down from the balcony to the floor, headbanging to the riffs of Seven Centuries of Suffering when she noticed something worrying.

The Galactic Positioning System had gone mad and calculated the route that went directly through a star.

It was a small star, not big enough to merit a name, just a combination of numbers and letters but a star nonetheless. And IGS Taurus was planning to go right through it if Inaed didn’t do something.

Time to play the hero, she noted to herself and switched to All Hail the Champion by The Colder Days. That song always made her feel like she could conquer planets.

Getting up from the chair, she sauntered over to the routing system and entered her authorization code, humming along to the opening lyrics. Her fingers swiftly drumming on the symbols, she corrected the course just by a few degrees and directing IGS Taurus safely past the red dwarf.

She fist pumped when the viewscreen displayed the message that the route alteration had been accepted.

The AI, however, wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Please restore the coordinates,” it chimed in its flat, emotionless voice that overrode all earpieces in the room.

“No,” Inaed snapped flatly and returned to her chair for another lap around the control room.

“Please restore the coordinates,” it insisted when she sprawled over the floor because she has estimated the speed of the automatic chair wrongly.

“No,” she barked and got up, dusting off her uniform.

“Please restore the coordinates,”

“Please restore the coordinates,”

“Please restore the coordinates,”

“Please restore the coordinates,”

Inaed groaned loudly, her head aching from the droning of the system. She almost wished she hadn’t altered the course but then she thought about the evaporation that usually happened in the close proximity of stars.

She could definitely take a stupid AI over a quick death.

“Please restore the coordinates,”

“Please shut up,” Inaed moaned, putting her hands over her face. Taurus was long past the little star that was the root of all this evil but the AI just wouldn’t drop the issue. She checked the clock and whimpered when it showed that she had a little over two hours to go.

“Please restore the coordinates,”

She wasn’t allowed to fall asleep and even if she wanted, she couldn’t.

“Please restore the coordinates,”

One and a half hours to go. The time seemed to be conspiring against her, slowing down just to prolong her suffering.

“Please restore the coordinates,”

Thirty more minutes to go. Inaed would most certainly require a trip to the psychologist when she got off this thrice-damned shift. She was never ever taking a graveyard shift again.

“Please restore the coordinates,”

Gripping the edge of her designated seat, Inaed stared at the clock. Four minutes and fifty-one seconds until the captain arrived and relieved her of duty. She begged whatever higher powers that were listening that the captain would be early that day.

“Please restore the coordinates,”

“For the love of everything that is holy,” she sobbed when captain Foxglove arrived.

“What is wrong?” Foxglove asked, surprised as Inaed ran from the room, wailing.

“Please restore the coordinates,”


End file.
